


If I had enough money I'd buy you a clue

by HelveticaBrown



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8817097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelveticaBrown/pseuds/HelveticaBrown
Summary: Alex Danvers may be brilliant, but she's also a special kind of oblivious. Or, Maggie can't quite comprehend how Alex has made it to the age of nearly-thirty without noticing the sheer number of women hitting on her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kind of intrigued by the idea of Alex Danvers not realising she was a lesbian until she met Maggie, because I can't quite imagine a world in which Alex Danvers doesn't get hit on by queer women with astonishing regularity. And I definitely don't arrive at any answers to that particular conundrum in this fic, so don't expect to read this and discover the answers to all the mysteries of the universe (or even any of them, tbh).

* * *

Alex Danvers is smart. Like, scary smart. At first, Maggie had thought she was a standard issue Fed, with the suit and the surgically-removed sense of humour, another cookie-cutter pain-in-the-ass interloper with a vastly-overinflated sense of her own worth. But Alex is another breed entirely, as Maggie is coming to realise.

Maggie’s pretty sure that Mensa writes Alex once a year begging her to join and Alex turns them down because Mensa would be slumming it. And as far as Maggie can determine, Alex’s actual title is something along the lines of Special Agent Dr Dr Danvers and really, she kind of sounds like the start of a bad joke. A federal agent, a PhD and an MD walk into a bar… Maggie’s not sure how the rest of it goes, but there’s a good chance that _she’s_ going to end up being part of the punchline.

So yeah, Alex Danvers is pretty fucking smart, but also, really, really not. Because Alex Danvers, despite having an enviable collection of leather jackets, a bike that makes even Maggie feel a little weak at the knees, and the kind of badass swagger that simply can’t be taught, is somehow completely oblivious to the effect she has on women.

Maggie knows flirting. Her older sister the English teacher once referred to her as the most determined flirt that ever made herself or her family ridiculous and Maggie happily wore that as a badge of pride much to her sister’s dismay. (She briefly considered getting Lydia Bennett’s name tattooed on her ass just to prove to her sister that yeah, she reads books too. In hindsight, she’s glad she didn’t). So Maggie flirts with Alex a bit (okay, a lot), because Alex is like lesbian catnip and Maggie’s definitely not immune. And she’s almost certain that Alex is flirting back sometimes.

She’s always thought she had pretty good gaydar. Of course there’d been a couple of straight women she’d hopelessly misread, but she also has more than enough toaster ovens that she could probably set up an appliances store on ebay and comfortably live off the proceeds for a while. And the thing is, Alex Danvers pings pretty fucking loud and clear and Maggie’s trying to figure out if it’s just a case of wishful thinking on her part, or if Alex has somehow managed to make it to the age of nearly-thirty without noticing the sheer number of women hitting on her.

Today is a perfect example. They’re running down leads on a case and Jamie, one of Maggie’s regular CIs, is currently standing just a little (way too) close to Alex and running a hand up and down her leather-jacket-clad arm. Maggie thinks it’s probably about time she refreshed her roster of CIs; this one definitely seems to be outliving her usefulness. She leans against the wall, arms folded, and tries not to glare too much.

“I _love_ your jacket,” Jamie says, and if it’s possible she somehow manages to move even closer to Alex. “The leather’s so soft,” she says, copping a not particularly surreptitious feel of Alex’s bicep.

“Uh… thanks. It was a graduation present from my mother.”

Jamie looks up at Alex through her eyelashes. “She has excellent taste, because it looks _really_ good on you. I’d love to meet her.”

Alex shrugs, not quite hard enough to dislodge Jamie, unfortunately. “We don’t really get along.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Jamie is still stroking Alex’s arm, much to Maggie’s disgust. “Maybe you could tell me all about it over drinks sometime.”

Maggie rolls her eyes, because short of hiring every billboard in the city to announce her intentions, Jamie couldn’t be more blatant. And yet, Alex somehow doesn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t really like to talk about it, but thanks for the offer,” Alex says, and maybe she doesn’t notice the way Jamie’s face falls, but Maggie definitely does.

Maggie sighs, because she’s pretty sure that any chance they had of getting information out of Jamie today is gone and as gross as the whole thing was, it would have been kind of useful if Alex could have let the flirting continue until they at least got a name or a location out of Jamie. Her assumption proves entirely correct, because a moment later Jamie steps away from Alex and when Maggie tries to ask her a question, she glares at them both and refuses to answer. After a few more futile attempts, they end up giving up on her as a lost cause.

Maggie’s day gets worse (and Alex’s should be getting better) when they walk back to their bikes and there’s a random (very attractive) blonde woman standing next to Alex’s Ducati. Maggie can pretty much picture exactly how this is going to go.

“I really like your bike,” she says, stroking the seat in a way that seems vaguely suggestive to Maggie’s eyes.

Alex grins, wide and sincere (of course she does, someone just complimented her baby). “Thanks.”

Random Blonde takes that as an invitation. “I was hoping maybe I could go for a ride on your bike.”

“Sorry. I don’t let other people take my bike out,” Alex says.

“I was more thinking that you could take me out for a ride,” Random Blonde says, apparently undeterred, and Maggie rolls her eyes because, yeah, this is exactly how this goes.

Alex shakes her head. “I only have one helmet and I’m a safety-first kind of girl. Sorry. I can give you the name of the dealership I got the bike from, though, if you’re interested in a test ride. The guys there are really good.”

Random Blonde shoots Maggie a perplexed look as Alex scribbles the dealership’s details on a scrap of paper and Maggie shrugs. She’s pretty sure Alex deserves to be getting a sales commission by now, because in the few weeks they’ve been working together, she’s watched the same scenario play out more than once.

Later, they’re getting coffee and the cute barista that always flirts with Alex is apparently feeling particularly bold today, because she scribbles her phone number on Alex’s cup in messy handwriting. They walk outside and Alex peers at the cup, that little line forming between her brows that under heavy interrogation, Maggie might admit to finding just a little bit cute. “What do you think it means? Is it a code? GPS co-ordinates maybe?” Alex asks.

“Umm… sure,” Maggie mumbles into her own cup of coffee. _Definitely_ GPS co-ordinates and Maggie’s pretty sure that if she fed them into Google Maps, the pin would land smack bang in the middle of a river in Egypt.

In a random poll of queer women, eleven out of ten said that yeah, they’d definitely hit that and unless Alex has some sort of super-secret, high-tech DEO-issued gaydar-scrambling device, Maggie is pretty sure they can’t all be so damn far off base. So yeah, Maggie’s kind of convinced that Alex is so deep in the closet that she could ask her to give her regards to Aslan and be confident that the message would get there. And that would be fine if Maggie was a completely disinterested party, and she was strictly motivated by scientific curiosity. But she’s not. She’s very, very interested, even though she knows it’s probably (definitely) the worst idea ever.

They end up at the alien bar after a pointless day of chasing leads that never quite lived up to their promise and Maggie’s determined to get to the bottom of one mystery today, at least.

She hands Alex a beer and then takes a sip of her own, before asking, “You ever notice anything weird about how some people behave towards you, Danvers? Like my CI and the barista and that woman who was touching your bike earlier?”

Alex looks at her for a moment, that cute, puzzled frown creasing her forehead. Then, “You know, I _was_ really surprised when I first moved here by how friendly people are in National City. I guess I’m just used to it now,” Alex says, and sure, _friendly_ is probably one word you could use to describe the women of National City in Alex’s presence. Maggie’s pretty sure there’s a few other words that should be a little further up the list, though. For example, _thirsty_ , like they’ve just stumbled out of the desert and Alex is the very tall drink of water they’ve just encountered.

By now, Maggie’s firmly convinced that Alex’s doctorate is in the little-known discipline of missing the point completely. And that should be enough to satisfy her; she should just drink her beer and hang out and enjoy Alex’s company and losing at pool for the thousandth time. But Maggie didn’t get her gold shield so young by leaving things alone, so when Alex leans over the pool table to take a shot, Maggie sidles up next to her and brushes her hand down Alex’s back and yes, Jamie’s right, the leather is _very_ soft.

“This really is a very nice jacket,” she says, a hint of mocking in her tone, and she watches with interest as Alex fluffs a shot so easy that even _she_ would have made it with both eyes closed.

It takes Alex a moment to straighten up from the pool table and when she does, she’s looking at Maggie with wide, deer-in-the-headlight eyes and maybe she’s not quite that oblivious after all. Maggie smiles, and if it’s possible, Alex’s eyes go wider still and maybe it’s just a trick of the really shitty lighting in the bar, but Maggie swears there’s a hint of a blush colouring Alex’s cheeks.

Maggie’s smile gets bigger and she can’t help but tease Alex a little. “You okay, Danvers? Pretty sure my three-year-old nephew could have made that shot.”

“Fine,” Alex says, and Maggie can’t help but notice the way her voice lilts upwards, like there’s not quite enough air in her lungs for that one syllable and she has to force it out. Alex grabs her beer off the edge of the pool table and takes a healthy swig.

“You sure? You look a little warm. Maybe we should get you home to bed.”

Alex chokes on her beer and Maggie’s caught between laughter and feeling guilty. She eventually settles on guilt and pats Alex’s back soothingly while she tries to get her breath back.

Alex finally stops coughing and Maggie smirks at her. “Didn’t realise breathing was such a challenge for you, Danvers.”

“It was never really a problem before now,” Alex says and apparently she’s recovered more than just the ability to breathe, because she gives Maggie this look that’s direct and open and just a little bit knowing. It’s a look that says Alex has caught on to the game Maggie’s playing and she’s going to play just as hard. It’s a look that Maggie feels all the way down to her toes.

“It’s your shot,” Alex says, and she walks around to the other side of the pool table and leans against it. And when Maggie checks out the table, tries to line up her next shot, she realises that Alex is right where she needs to be to take it.

She looks up. There’s a hint of a smirk on Alex’s lips and she’s watching Maggie intently, her eyes slightly narrowed above angular cheekbones that Maggie desperately wants to reach out and trace with her hands. There’s a clear challenge in Alex’s look and Maggie’s never been one to back down so she’s sure as hell not about to start now. She moves around the table to take her shot and when Alex doesn’t step back, she nudges her aside with her hip. Alex barely moves, so when Maggie bends to take her shot, she can still feel Alex, warm against her hip. She’s a little surprised that Alex is pushing things this far. And maybe it’s a good thing that Alex has always been kind of oblivious, because now Maggie’s the one finding breathing difficult and she’s not sure the women of National City could have survived the full force of Alex’s charm. She’s not entirely sure _she_ will, for that matter.

She misses the shot, of course. Her hands are a little too shaky and she almost misses the cue ball altogether, just making contact a little off-centre. The cue ball shoots off at an angle, missing all the other balls, before dropping into the corner pocket.

“Damn.”

She straightens up, with Alex still right up in her space, and she doesn’t have to turn her head to know that Alex is still smirking at her. It’s in her voice when she leans in and whispers, “Bad luck, Sawyer.” And then there’s the gentle pressure of a hand on her lower back that’s probably meant to be consoling, but it doesn’t quite have that effect. “You really are terrible at pool, you know.”

Normally that would rile her up a little, because at heart, Maggie is actually very competitive. She’s spent almost every night in here for the last month practising, and if someone happened to subpoena her internet search history, they might find a few instructional pool videos on the list. Just a few. But she can’t bring herself to feel even slightly annoyed, because somehow this still feels like a win. She puts the cue down on the table before she turns to face Alex and they’re close, neither of them taking a step back. Alex’s hand slides around to rest on her hip; she doesn’t retreat from the contact and Alex doesn’t move her hand away.

She holds Alex’s gaze, the challenge still clear in her eyes, and wonders which one of them will blink first. She’s not sure she cares at this point. “Maybe you’re right. I’m not great at pool,” she says. She lets her gaze dip down to Alex’s lips for a moment, before she looks back up and says, “I’m _very_ good at other things, though.”

That’s game over for sure, because Alex’s hand on her hip turns from gentle to grasping and she can hear Alex’s sudden, sharp intake of breath. And even if it’s not, Maggie decides she’s not playing any longer, because she wants Alex in a way that’s real and she needs Alex to know that. She reaches up, cups Alex’s face in her hands, traces the line of her jaw with her thumb, and waits a moment until she’s sure that Alex wants this too. Then she pulls her down into a kiss that’s far more gentle and sweet than its lead-up would have suggested and she’s glad she did when she feels Alex sigh against her lips.

She eases back and Alex is looking at her like she’s a revelation. “Yeah, you are,” Alex breathes, and it takes Maggie a moment to understand what she’s saying. And normally she’d have a glib response to that, because she’s always been kind of a smart ass. She doesn’t, though, because right now there’s nothing but Alex in her head, so she doesn’t say anything, just kisses her again.


End file.
